Rising Storm
by robingal1
Summary: Peter's hands tightly held the banister, his jaw taunt, and his eyes hard. Someone had taken Neal Caffery and Donald Hughes. It was his job to get them back. To return them safely. and then to seek out whoever took them.


Disclaimer: not mine

Note: all of this is post anklet and merrily unbeta-ed. enjoy!

The storm outside the FBI building of NYC was steadily building. The sun had set several hours ago and not a star could be seen through the heavy black clouds. Thunder boomed nearby, rattling the windows. It was going to be a very bad storm.  
Standing atop the mezzanine, SAIC Peter Burke looked down at his team. All of them busy. Some quietly panicking, others just rushing.  
Peter's hands tightly held the banister, his jaw taunt, and his eyes hard.  
Someone, or someoneS, had taken Neal Caffery and Donald Hughes.  
It was his job to get them back. To return them safely. and then to seek out whoever took them.  
He returned to the solitude of his dark office, momentarily enjoying the equally dark thoughts of violence and retribution.  
Thunder clashed against the building. Lightning arched just seconds after. It was going to be a very bad storm.

The fools just outside the bedroom door had simply left him locked in here. Just threw him in and shut the door behind themselves. Fools!  
Like a silent and angry shark, Hughes stalked the room. Efficiently turning the room for anything useful.  
A tiny and unadorned bedroom with one small window high above. too high and too small for him.  
there were two beds. Both identically made. the closet was sparsely kept. the two inhabitants of this room did not let their things touch. They seemed to be respectful, if boring, roommates.  
No IDs of any kind. no phones charging anywhere. not even a pencil. Just clothes, two beds, and one sad useless window rattling against the raging winter storm outside.  
But however disgusted he was with his currently predicament, he couldn't help but wonder for Peter's CI.  
He likely wouldn't be alive if it weren't for that errant young idiot.  
He also likely wouldn't be here at all if it weren't for Caffery either.  
This morning had started innocently. He had escaped the early morning rush and the encroaching storm had only just started it's cold drizzle.  
Just before his meeting at ten, he escaped downstairs to the lone coffee vendor working his wheeled stand. One last taste of sunshine before his day would be spent behind a his desk.  
He wasn't the only one with the idea. Caffery and one other patron was there as well. Hughes had his coffee in his gloved hand, his umbrella in the other. He politely nodded to the younger man and waited for him to collect his coffee, planning on walking back to the office with him. That was the plan. But the plans of men often fall at the feet of gods and Neal Caffery.  
"Holden!" Said a surprised and angry voice. "What the hell are you doing here?!"  
Looking up, Hughes saw a stocky white male, 5'8, lazy greying facial hair, squared face, and empty eyes. Said male was quickly advancing on Caffery.  
"Holden! Who do you think you are?"  
"I'm sorry, sir, do i know you?" said Caffery, his coffee forgotten, left on the condiment counter cooling rapidly in the freezing breeze.  
"Oh, no! Not again. You owe me, Holden. And today, I'm collectin'." Without warning, the man grabbed Caffery's arm and pulled him close.  
Without thought, Hughes went into to help. "Sir, no." Caffery calmly stood there, not moving. Barely breathing.  
"Oh? 'Sir' is it? And who're you, old man?" the noisy bastard let go of Caffery and shoved the unusually subdued younger man towards him. That's when Hughes saw the gun loosely held in the other man's grip. Not brandishing it, but letting the two of them know about it.  
Before he could answer, Caffery answered, "He's no one, Stevenson. What do you want? I have things to do- things that don't involve you." His voice carried an assertive callousness. Clearly dismissive and angered.  
"Shut up, Holden. Whatever plans you had, they ended when you pissed me off. Now start walking, both of ya'll. And you, old guy, gimme yur coffee."  
They walked in the cold drizzle towards a small parking lot. Caffrey stumbled into him, next to the nearby ATM. Stevenson picked a car at random, pointed at Caffery, "You know what to do. And make sure to turn the heater on, Ah'm freezing my balls off here."  
Caffery stepped around Hughes, and under the guise of handing him his umbrella Hughes could feel him lifting his cellphone. He then took his gloves off and began hot wiring the car. Within seconds, the car was started, the doors where unlocked, and Hughes was sitting in the passenger seat next to the younger man driving sedately through the rain. Not a flicker of emotion showed on Caffery's face. His hands were sure and steady. He made a point to take off his hat, set it down on the seat, and fix his hair before pulling out of the lot. Stevenson had elected to sit in the back, easier to keep the gun trained on them that way.  
They didn't drive far, three blocks east and one block north. A small residential area filled with small apartments and a small corner pharmacy.  
"Get out. Leave yur stuff and don't do anything stupid. You know what happens when I get mad, Holden."  
Caffrey left his hat on the seat next to their umbrellas.  
They were herded towards the nearest building and down to the basement apartment. The inside of the small room was brightly lit and crowded. Three more people were glaring at them. Two men of medium height in non descriptive sweaters, just bulky enough to hide a gun, were standing near the back of the room.  
A third person at the small dinner table, female, young, and carefully studying the various mechanical parts spread on the table before her.  
"Ah... I see." Caffery broke the silence with sneer. "You've haven't changed at all, Stevenson. Still need someone to hold your hand?"  
"Shut up, Hol-"  
"Listen closely. I'm going to save you the trouble. They're the muscle, obviously. Her? She's a desperate mechanic. Where'd you find her, high school? Judging by the overflowing trashcan filled with take out, you are nearly at the end of a fast approaching due date, and you want ME to pull your ass out of the fire? What's more, you have brought my associate as well. Do you have any IDEA what your small-time con has cost me? Do you ever stop and think? Do you know WHO this man works for? Because I assure you, Stevenson, whatever connections you and your poorly organized troop of thieves THINK you have, you will find yourselves quickly wrong, alone, and bleeding." Caffery's eyes never veered, his breath was sure and even, and his voice barely above a whisper. Hell, Peter's CI was GOOD. "I'm telling you now, whatever ideas you have, they. will. fail. You're in over your hea-"  
Stevenson didn't let him finish, choosing instead to hit Caffery across the mouth with the butt of his gun. Silence returned to the cramped room. Stevenson was panting, nervous, edgy, and not at all the brains of this group of soon to be prisoners. The girl at the table very obviously didn't look up from whatever she was working on.

Meanwhile, the two men near the back kitchen nook never moved, however their eyes took in everything. oh, yeah... Stevenson was in over his head. Problem was, now Hughes and Caffery were sucked into whatever mess he wasn't finished making.  
Caffery turned his head to spit blood to the floor. A car alarm went off in the distance. No one moved.  
"What did ah tell you about upsetting me, Holden?" he panted. "And what about you, old man? Was Holden gonna sell you something shiny? Or maybe you hired him to sell something shiny to someone else? Huh? Well, you should know he has a habit of walking away mid-deal. No note, no nothin'. Just gone."  
Hughes said nothing.  
"Search 'em!" The two from the back came forward. This was the part he feared. They were going to find his badge, shoot him, and then likely shoot Caffrey soon after. He was quickly pat down with skilled ease, then they moved on to the younger man beside him.  
"The old man has a gun, looks standard issue for law types, nothing else." A whole sentence from Sweater Number One.  
"Holden has a phone." Sweater Number Two removed the battery from said phone, and then stepped on the phone.  
"You a lawman, old man?" Stevenson asked. He chuckled. "Nah. What would a law type be doin' with the likes of him?"  
Hughes stood there, staring at the brainless moron; a dangerous moron with a temper and no self restraint.  
"The silent type, huh? Fine." Stevenson turned to Caffrey. "Here's how it's gonna go: I don't kill the old man so long as you lend your expertise to the team. You run, he dies. You screw wit' me, he dies. Ya got all that?"  
Caffrey smiled. "That's not how this is going to work. You're going to call your boss, you're going to set up a meeting, and if you DO shot this man, the shit storm that will reign down on your head will be Biblical." Thunder boomed above ground, shaking the door behind them and causing the lights to flicker. "You're on a time limit, Stevenson. Make the call." The young CI's face held no mercy, but cruel mirth danced in his eyes. "Tick tock."  
The patter of rain was replaced with a deluge of wet noise.  
Stevenson audibly sighed. "Fine. Your 'associate' gets locked away; ah need to know that you're focused on the work, Holden. And after payday, we both walk away. Deal?"  
Caffrey didn't respond; he lifted his eyebrow, clearly waiting for Stevenson to make his call.  
Sweater Number Two "escorted" Hughes down the small hall to the bedroom. "You leave this room, you get shot. I don't miss." The man stopped short before he closed the door, "And don't touch my stuff."  
Caffrey was out there, alone with armed fools and a weak cover story. Meanwhile, here he was, stalking the room, like a predator looking for prey. Angry didn't begin to describe the white hot fury in his chest.  
Above him, the rain fell on the window. It was a bad storm.

It must have been nearly one in the morning. But finally there was a better lead than the one from earlier. Agents had canvased the last known area of Hughes and Caffrey. The only thing found was the testimony of a coffee vendor and footage from an ATM camera showing them Caffrey lifting Hughes' wallet.  
Jones came into his office, small smile dancing on his lips. "Boss, we got a lead! There was a stolen car reported found a few hours ago. The tow truck driver found two wallets hidden underneath a fedora in a hot wired car. The alarm had been going off until someone called in the tow. It was Hughes and Caffrey's wallets, sir. We got 'em!"  
Peter Burke was not one for loud cries or cheers, but the feeling of warmth finally-FINALLY!-spreading past the dread in his chest felt as close to a whooping call that we going to give.  
A smile spread across his face. "Got an address?"  
"Diana's calling it in now."  
Not waiting, they left the office and descended the stairs to Diana's desk, arriving as she hung up. Without preamble she explained not only to the two of them, but the rest of the tired and tirelessly working agents in the room. "Cops just finished dusting for prints, but I think that we all know who's fingerprints we're going to discover. The car was towed from an residential area a few blocks from here. Police are already on route." She gathered her coat and scarf while talking, intending to leave as soon and she was given the leave.  
An office assistant was coming to Peter with the coat he'd left on his chair, scarf too. Behind him was another agent handing him his gun. Oh, yes. With people this good, this dedicated, this trustworthy, maybe a little hope could be seen fluttering far in the dark stormy distance.

They arrived on what could only be described as the fuck-up-of-all-fuck-ups; SAIC Peter Burke leading his agents across the dark street and through the bitterest of winter winds. His jaw clenched, his fists tight against his sides, with a low growl escaping from deep inside his chest. None of the agents at his back left any holes in their ranks. All of them marched towards the flashing of police car lights and SWAT van lights with deadly sense of purpose.  
The police had indeed been sent on ahead. A young rookie fresh from some dumbassed backwash of police academy was the first to arrive. He had a partner with him. Had. A team EMTs were just leaving with the body.  
Peter came to the center, his two best agents stayed with him, the rest scattered into the fray of police and SWAT teams. He needed answers, they would come and report back to him within minuets. There were heavily armed law enforcers of both side arguing as he arrived. They turned to him, wondering who the hell would dare to interu-  
"I have two men in there. What do you know?" Nothing about his stance even hinted at him leaving, backing down, or giving a rat's ass about whatever the hell they thought they were arguing about. That argument ended the moment he arrived. there was work to do. They'd do it, or they'd be asked to leave. Jones and Diana stood behind him, intercepting the returning agents' information and then dispatching them back into the night.  
"Now!" he barked.  
The eldest man, police, likely from Homicide, looked at him. "Officer Rand and Opp arrived first. The kid swears he saw Anatoly Vecchio and three men enter the basement apartment. The expensive sedan parked at the edge of the street is registered to Vecchio. Officer Opp called it in. Before dispatch could respond, Officer Rand turned on his lights, pulled out his bullhorn, and informed the persons inside that 'the building was surrounded'." The man sighed. "Before he knew what hit him, Officer Opp had a bullet in him."  
Peter turned to his right, Jones passed him night vision binoculars. There was a small hole in the glass of the door, roughly the size for a bullet to have passed though.  
One of the other men, SWAT team leader, barely five feet, but with the stocky build of someone who knows his strength looked directly from the first man to Peter. "We arrived shortly after the call came in," he slightly turned his head towards the elder man, showing where the call came from, "we just finished setting up. We have three shooters set up and a team ready to go. We just don't know what we're going into. I'm not comfortable sending my people into an unknown enemy engagement with limited intel and only one exit."  
Diana left to coordinate with SWAT. Another agent replaced her briefly at Peter's side, passing him a heat signature viewer. Jones stood behind him as Peter swept the device from one corner of the building to the other.

Ten heat signatures. Two in the farthest room, two in the back of the main room, one seated alone, and another seated at what was likely a couch. Everyone else was standing around with their hands holding something that didn't give off a heat signature, likely a gun.  
Peter let a deep breath go. His people weren't dead. "Murphy," he called to the SWAT team leader, "Agent Diana is going to accompany your ground assault team. They're in charge, she won't take chances. And she's probably a better shot than any of us."  
"Officer DiVina, I need to talk to your negotiator."  
The older man shook his head. "She's still an hour out." Peter let a frustrated growl slip past his throat. "It's after two in the morning, Agent. The woman was doing what any sane person would be doing, sleeping. She's on her way."  
"Not good enough, not soon enough. We need to establish a dialog with these people. There are families living in the apartments above them. Get me a bullhorn."  
After everyone left with duties, only Jones and Peter stood there. The cold, frigid rain pelted down on them. If he could still feel his fingers and toes, he would have shivered.  
"Jones..."  
"Yeah, boss?"  
"If this doesn't work..."  
There was a snicker from the man. "Of course it's going to work, otherwise you'll have to explain to Mrs. Burke why it didn't. I don't think you want that. None of us want that."  
Peter took a deep breath, wiped the rain from his face, and then addressed the people holding his people.

After what Hughes judged after midnight, all hell broke loose. The thunder had slacked off enough to make out pieces of conversation from the other side of the door. Until suddenly, there were police sirens just outside of the building, the familiar blue and red lights flashing against the buildings he could just barely make out from the window, and then a very young male voice trying desperately to sound threatening.  
Within moments, Hughes heard a shot fired from within the tiny space.  
"Did you just shoot a cop?!" a very angry shocked Italian sounding voice accused. "What the hell were you thinking?"  
"You heard 'em! We gotta get out." that would be the familiar bitchings of Stevenson.  
"Judging from the sound of those sirens approaching, I do believe that is going to be impossible! Idiot!"  
After that, things were too loud outside to hear anymore. Refusing to begin useless pacing again, he stood ready. Ready for what, he didn't know, but ready all the same. He had taken the clothing bar from out the closet and readied to swing at the first target that presented themselves. He really hoped it was Stevenson.  
A short time later, the door opened. Hughes lifted his makeshift bat higher from his shoulder. Just before he swung however, a very young and frightened face appeared. The mechanic. She looked up at him and paled. Tears fell from her very wide eyes.  
"P-please, Mr. Holden t-told me to come here." She stood there in the doorway, shaking.  
Hughes let her in, making sure that she didn't close the door behind her.  
"Explain."  
"Mr. Holden - Nick- he told me to come here."  
He glared at her.  
"Stevenson shot the cop. Just shot him. I knew he was a jerk, but... Oh, God! What am i going-"  
"What is your name?"  
"Alli. Allison James. I'm not- i'm not in high school. I graduated last year. I-"  
"Mr. Holden told you to come here?"  
"Yeah, Mickey and Robert moved to close ranks with that Italian Mobster Guy and his guys. Nick told me to hide here with you until the heat died down. I don't kno-"  
"Go sit down in the closet. When SWAT arrives, keep your hands on your head and don't make and fast movements. Stay quiet and stay small until this is over." Allison stood there shaking. "Now, girl." She went, she sat, she made sad small sobbing noises from behind the closet door.  
Hughes moved towards the door. He couldn't see anything but wall. He was about to risk leaving the space when he heard a tap on the glass above him. The window. It opened silently, whoever was opening it had greased it before attempting anything. A pair of dark clad legs descended from the upper floor, followed by the familiar shape of Agent Diana Berrigan.  
Hughes smiled. She was likely the only one small enough to have fit through the small window. And if she was here, that means the rest of his people were here.  
She passed him her spare gun. Oh, for that, he was going to buy her lunches for a week.  
They opened the window again, shoved Allison into the waiting arms of the SWAT team outside.  
The window opened one last time, passing them both protective gear. Berrigan couldn't fit through while still wearing it. But now, they were both armed and protected. Now, this shark had teeth.

"Mr. Vecchio! My name is Special Agent in Charge Peter Burke with the FBI. We understand that you and your men have been held hostage against your wills. If you and your men are able, it is now safe for you to exit the building." Peter called over the bullhorn.  
"Agent Burke! Have you lost your mind? That asshole-"  
"-is going to walk out of that building and into the secure transport of the NYC Police Department to each give separate testimony of what happened. Make sure you ask why they were here and what business they have with Benjamin Stevenson, a known convict and thief?"  
Officer DiVina stood there, shocked, then smiled. "Yeah, we'll be sure to do that, Burke." The man left to arrange for transport.  
It didn't take long after that.  
Anatoly Vecchio slowly crossed the street, casually holding an umbrella. Four men, all leaving their perfectly legal and registered guns with the police, were escorted to awaiting vehicles.  
"What the hell?" Murphy quietly cursed.  
Jones made a noise somewhere between a snort and audible disdain. "If Vecchio stayed, he'd have been seen as siding with Stevenson. So he quickly shared a cover story with his men; he left one to cover his back, and take the fall as Stevenson's hitter."  
"How do you know?"  
"Listening hardware, not legally admissible as evidence, but it saves lives. We heard every word they've said since we got here."  
"What now?"  
"Now," said Peter, "there are two armed and angry Federal Agents and my CI against one unofficially known mob hitman and one cop killer."

Hughes and Berrigan edged to the end of the hall. Stevenson was just now realized how in over his head he truly was. Hughes remembered that Caffrey did warn the idiot.  
"Robert, you would just take the fall like that? Help me outta this and I'll set you up for life!"  
No response.  
"Holden! You called them! This is your fault!"  
A deep sigh. "I told you to call your boss. I wanted in on your game. There was no way I would take orders from you. Little did I know that you would call in the fucking mob."  
"Dammit! This was my big score! It's not fair!"  
Sweater Number Two snickered.  
"No, it wasn't. It was a test. Vecchio is a one of the Bosses. His interest was to see if you were good enough to put on the payroll. He never wanted that car from the automobile museum. He wanted to see if you were worth keeping alive in HIS town. You moved in, tried to start a crew. You were loud about it too. It didn't take much to attract his attention. Let me guess, Robert here and his friend both showed up a few days after you accepted Vecchio's deal?"  
A pained cry could be heard. Hughes smiled. Berrigan smirked.  
"I'm not going down! I'm not going back to jail. Find me a way out, Holden!"  
Another sigh. "It's Halden. HALden! Honestly!"  
He and Berrigan rushed the room then. Caffery stood away from the hall, forcing Stevenson to turn his back to the hall.  
Sweater Number Two didn't resist. He placidly surrendered his weapon to Berrigan. She cuffed him to the kitchenette's refrigerator and then trained her weapon to Stevenson.  
Stevenson had his gun aimed at Caffrey.  
"Old man? You're a cop?!"  
"FBI, you arrogant son of a bitch. Now, hands on your head. You're under arrest."  
He didn't move. Neither did Caffrey.  
All of them stood there for minutes that like seemed like hours. Caffrey's breathing was calm and even, his eyes hard, his hands still and open. Stevenson's was ragged and scared. Before anyone could stop him, he tensed his gun hand, intending to fire. Berrigan shot him through the ribs. Hughes shot him in the upper back, near the heart.  
Caffrey took a breath, blinked, and Hughes watched as his eyes returned from the hard emptiness from before, back to the usually troublesome Neal.  
Then Peter, Jones, and so many other people descended into the tiny space.  
Yeah, it was late; time to go home.

The rain had stopped. The sun had risen about an hour ago. There were still low hanging clouds scattered throughout the sky, but the storm had passed. Peter sipped his coffee and leaned against the desk of his now safely back supervising agent. The office below was quiet. There had been questions and reports and then more of each. He was exhausted. They all were.  
Hughes sat behind his desk, massaging his temples. Diana was standing ramrod straight, knowing if she sat down, she'd fall asleep right then and there. Jones, throwing caution to the wind, leaned against Diana, too tired to feel threatened by her icy, red-eyed glare.  
They were all here. They were all safe. And they were all waiting on their rides home.  
A small noise caught his attention. Caffrey began fidgeting where he lay on Hughes' couch. The beginnings of a nightmare forming.  
He set his coffee on the desk, leaned down and touched the kid's shoulder. "You're safe, Caffrey." And that's all it took. the kid went right back to sleep.  
Yeah, the storm had passed.

He awoke slowly. His head hurt. His jaw hurt. His lip felt swollen.  
Neal opened his eyes slowly. He was in the Burke's guest bed. He vaguely recalled Peter shoving him in here.  
Taking a deep breath, he became more aware. Weak winter afternoon sunlight came in through the window near the bed.  
On the table nearby, there was a glass of water and thankfully a bottle of aspirin. He drank the whole thing in just a few swallows.  
He should probably get up. He needed a shower.  
He could smell bacon and eggs wafting from downstairs. A smile touching his broken lips.  
Which became even broader when he heard the front door open. Elizabeth's plane must have landed. "Hon?! Peter?"  
"Hon." came the answering call.  
Neal found the clothes that Peter had left out. On top of which was a museum flier outside of his radius attached to a signed permission form from Hughes. An old joke about a radius he no longer fought against.  
Yeah, today was going to be a good day.

~fin~


End file.
